I hate people.
People are mean and they do mean things.
They hurt you, they’re hard to talk to, they don’t laugh at your jokes, they break promises and they’re always running late. They’re shallow, can’t hold their alcohol, have so much drama and you have to consistently listen to them like you actually give a shit about what they’re going through.
I hate feelings.
It makes you feel things.
They cloud your judgement. You find yourself doing things that you don’t like. It makes you talk to people in a strange modulated voice. It makes you give crappy advice and laugh at dumb jokes. It makes you promise things that you’re never going to do and you find yourself giving a shit about what they’re going though.
Sometimes, hate myself.
At 29, my problems revolve around boys and braces, taglines and deadlines. I care little about things that matter, and care more about things that don’t. I’m always hungry, I’m having trouble sleeping and I spend way too much on useless things such as hotel-grade, 300 thread count egyptian cotton bed sheets (and still i’m having trouble sleeping). My photoshop skills are crappy, I am powerless in PowerPoint and I absolutely suck in Snapchat (add me up: @runawayrun).
I also complain way too much when there are people who have real problems.
God I need a drink.